Chapter 1 - The Woman Who Never Flinched
The first bullet shattered the whiskey glass three inches from Cassian Thorne’s face.
The second killed the lights.
And the third made everyone in Blackwood Manor realize the enemy was already inside.
Cassian dropped behind his walnut desk as automatic gunfire ripped through the tall windows of his office.
Glass exploded across the French limestone floor.
Marcus Reed slammed against the stone fireplace and drew his pistol.
Dante Silva crouched behind a leather chair.
“Security!” Marcus shouted into his radio.
Nothing answered.
Only static.
Then another burst of gunfire tore through the room.
Cassian’s jaw tightened.
“They killed communications.”
“No,” a soft female voice said.
Everyone froze.
Elena Rostova stood beside the liquor cabinet.
The housekeeper.
The woman Cassian had barely noticed for eight months.
She wasn’t shaking.
She wasn’t screaming.
She wasn’t even looking toward the windows.
She was watching the small red light beneath the security monitor.
Cassian stared at her.
“What did you say?”
Elena slowly set down her polishing cloth.
“They didn’t kill communications.”
Another explosion shook the western wing.
She looked at him.
“Someone inside the house shut them down.”
Marcus frowned.
“How would you know that?”
Elena ignored him.
Her eyes moved toward the hallway.
“Get away from the south wall.”
Dante laughed nervously.
“What?”
“Move.”
Nobody moved.
Elena’s voice hardened.
“Now.”
Cassian reacted first.
He grabbed Marcus by the shoulder and pulled him toward the center of the room.
Dante followed.
Three seconds later, the south wall erupted inward.
A blast of dust and stone swallowed the room.
Three masked attackers rushed through the opening.
Elena dropped.
A fallen security guard lay near the doorway, his rifle beside him.
She rolled once, seized it, checked the weapon with the smooth motion of someone who had done it a thousand times, and fired.
Two attackers went down.
The third turned toward her.
Elena moved behind the desk before he could line up the shot.
Cassian stared.
The timid housekeeper was gone.
Her shoulders were straight.
Her eyes were cold.
Her breathing was controlled.
She fired again.
The attacker collapsed.
Silence lasted perhaps two seconds.
Marcus looked at Elena as if she had grown another head.
“What the hell are you?”
Elena changed magazines.
“A woman who strongly recommends leaving this room.”
Cassian rose slowly.
“You knew they were coming.”
“I suspected.”
“You knew the southern sensors were compromised.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Elena finally looked him directly in the eyes.
“Because until thirty seconds ago, you would have killed me for knowing too much.”
Cassian had no answer.
Then a voice came through the dead security system.
Not static.
A man’s voice.
Calm.
Russian.
“Cassian Thorne.”
Elena’s face changed.
For the first time that night, fear touched her eyes.
The voice continued.
“You have something that belongs to me.”
Cassian looked at the monitor.
Viktor Volkov appeared on the screen.
Then he smiled.
“Elena Rostova.”
Marcus slowly turned toward her.
Viktor leaned closer to the camera.
“I finally found you.”
And Elena whispered the one sentence Cassian never expected to hear.
“He didn’t come here for your empire.”
She looked at Cassian.
May you like
“He came here for me.”
---
